


Do Not Lie Alone (Tell Truths With Me)

by Grizmelder



Series: Deep in Autumn [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mid-life Crisis, Misunderstandings, and they were husbands, tattoo appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28672899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grizmelder/pseuds/Grizmelder
Summary: "Do you think I would suit a tattoo, Renji?" Byakuya asked.He unstuck his cheek from Renji's chest and looked up at him with those sleepy half-lidded post-sex eyes. Renji loved the post-sex eyes. "Err," he said, eloquently.Byakuya looked on, all glowy and delicately ruffled."That'd be hot," his tongue helpfully supplied before his grey matter could whirr into life. "But I'm not sure it's really your style."--Byakuya has a midlife crisis, and it takes Renji a while to catch on.
Relationships: Abarai Renji/Kuchiki Byakuya
Series: Deep in Autumn [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013601
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Do Not Lie Alone (Tell Truths With Me)

#### 

Autumn is no time to lie alone.

_Murasaki Shikibu_

It had started with a grammatical error. Renji had utterly missed it amongst the formal language Kuchiki Taicho used in his missives to Central, however their third seat was a proofreading goddess. She quietly fixed it before sending the document on its way. 

At least, she did the first time. And then the second. 

By the third mistake in two weeks, Kirara Sanseki came running straight to Renji. She hadn't wanted to embarrass her Captain, but knew her penmanship wasn't quite up to par and eventually someone would notice her subtle corrections.

It was out of character. It was suspicious. It was only one of a dozen things that had sent up bright, red warning flares in Renji's head this last month. 

Byakuya was upset - Renji could tell that by the fact that he’d started drinking the really bitter tea that was meant to be good for you and tasted like stagnant pond scum - but, crucially, he _wasn't_ sulking. Sulking was normal behaviour given the situation. 

Renji was quite used to the sulking. He had spent time developing the perfect cure for it. The trick was to let Byakuya wallow in misery for precisely the length of time it took to bring water to boil, make a pot of tea, set it to stew, and then get distracted for about ten pages’ worth of the latest comic book of your choice. This was the point when Byakuya would let out an unimpressed puff of air at the tea over-brewing and pour it himself. This technique opened up the opportunity for a conversation, throughout which Renji could carefully needle the necessary information out of his husband. 

You see, Byakuya always _wanted_ to come clean about his problems, he just liked making you work for it.

This time, for whatever reason, Byakuya seemed to have taken a leaf from Renji's book on problem management. 

Renji was the sort of person that packed any serious worries in a box, weighed them down with stones and threw into a psychological lake never to be spoken about again. The patented Abarai strategy for bottling up your problems had three steps: first, apply strenuous exercise, if that fails to distract the brain, surround yourself with all of your friends, then as a last resort, eat your favourite food until you feel full of something other than feelings. Rinse and repeat.

Kuchiki Byakuya didn’t employ these methods. Instead he became, apparently, unpredictable. For instance, making wildly uncharacteristic grammatical errors in his reports. 

Of course, inattentiveness was one thing and _this_? 

This was entirely another.

The behaviour Renji was witnessing right this very moment worried him more than anything else he'd experienced in the decades he'd been married. 

"Do you think I would suit a tattoo, Renji?" Byakuya asked.

They were lying naked in each other's arms, Byakuya's fingers trailing over the familiar tracks of Renji's tattoos like nothing unusual had happened. Like he hadn't just casually dropped a question so out of character that Renji felt like he had been ripped unceremoniously from a gigai at light speed. Quite frankly his heart couldn't take a lot after a round in bed with Byakuya, and this threatened to just about do him in. 

Still waiting on an answer, Byakuya unstuck his cheek from Renji's chest and looked up at him with those sleepy half-lidded post-sex eyes. Renji loved the post-sex eyes.  
"Err," he said, eloquently. Byakuya looked on, all glowy and delicately ruffled.  
"Right. You're...asking me if you should get a tattoo?" Renji tried again.  
"Yes."  
"Kuchiki Byakuya, highest born noble of seireitei, immaculate shining beacon of laws and purity and honour, is asking me whether he would suit a tattoo?" 

Renji resisted saying: _"Tattoos, which are so widely associated with criminals that you could get banned from the bath house at your own mansion. The bath house that I can only use on special request or at 3 o'clock in the morning despite being married to the owner, because, you know, I have tattoos."_ Instead he thought about it very hard, in case his husband could absorb this opinion by osmosis. 

Byakuya snorted and rolled over, eyebrow raised and still oh so very naked. "I, Kuchiki Byakuya, husband to the most obnoxiously tattooed officer in the Gotei, am asking whether I would look good with a tattoo." Obviously he had missed Renji's internal monologue. Unfortunately, his own mind seemed to have also lost the plot and summoned up a very detailed image of Byakuya with tattooed shoulders. 

"Err," Renji said again. His brain was possibly leaking out through his ears, or melting down his spinal column because there were definitely some stirrings of things below the belt somewhere. 

"That'd be hot," his tongue helpfully supplied before his grey matter could whirr into life. "But I'm not sure it's really your style."  
"No? Why not?"  
"Well, it would mean having some random irezumi artist see your actual skin and poke you with needles, for a start. And what would you even get?"  
"We could match," Byakuya offered with a slight tilt of his head. He was looking at the ceiling in a lazy, thoughtful sort of pose, the sheets barely covering his hips. 

Renji got an elbow under him and leaned over to look into his Captain's face. "As much as that would fuel my already unhealthy possessive streak, husband," Renji said, and paused for effect. Byakuya hummed like a satisfied cat. The possessive streak did a lot for them, it was an old friend at this point. "I think my tattoos are a sort of an in for a penny in for a pound scenario. You can't really slice 'em up and just get one or two."

There was a long, appraising drag of eyes down Renji's chest and back up again. "You are quite correct," Byakuya said and sighed. He sounded disappointed. Apparently this was a thing that his husband actually wanted, so Renji relented and started probing at the concept in the same way his earliest tattooist had done. 

"Well...mine're sort of for Zabimaru. So could you get something for Senbonzakura?" he suggested. "Or was it meant to be a thing about me?"  
"Any tattoo I got would still be about you by nature of it being a tattoo," Byakuya said. He was a little evasive, suddenly looking like he was settling in to sleep.  
"If you're serious about it, I can recommend a guy. I can come with you."

Byakuya paused in the middle of fixing his hair, gave him a considerate look. "Yes," he decided. 

*

Their rooms at the estate were only private in the same way that they were 'theirs'. The suite belonged to the estate rather than a single person, and therefore the footfall through it was more frequent and varied than Renji would have believed before moving in. 

Their visitors were, at least, subtle and organised - inanimate objects moved around unattended sometimes, and there was the occasional sound of someone scurrying around in one of the rooms furthest from wherever you happened to be. Apparently (and this was news to Renji) the proper way to treat the help was to deliberately pretend they weren't there. Like how you're meant to ignore those black-clad stage hands in a kabuki play, even as they're literally carrying things around in full view of the audience.

This behaviour came to Byakuya so naturally that his eyes slipped off them before landing. Renji, on the other hand, still had to remember not to start getting undressed the moment he entered the suite despite multiple embarrassing accidental strip teases. 

Yes, this was just one of many. 

"Woah, Eijiro!" he yelped, feebly holding his gi over his chest like a respectable lady of the house. Which he most definitely wasn't. "Renji-sama," the steward said with smile that balanced on the edge of a grimace. He had seen Renji's nipples one too many times by this point.  
"Sorry, I..er..." Renji started, fumbling back into the top half of his uniform. "Wait, it's 3 in the afternoon what are you doing in here?"  
"Kuchiki-sama wanted me to rotate some items into his wardrobe," Eijiro explained, flicking a length of silk in his hands so that it folded itself neatly in two, as if under instruction. 

The wardrobe, sunk into the far wall of their bedroom, was wide open and the floor littered with the delicately perfumed wooden boxes that Byakuya stored all his clothes in. 

"But it's another month until he gets his winter wardrobe out..." Renji frowned. He knew the preposterous rhythms of the house so well by this point. With every new season the entire contents of the wardrobe were taken out, aired, re-perfumed, put into storage and then replaced with a completely new, _seasonally appropriate_ set of kimono, haori, hakama, undershirts, tabi, obi and matching sandals. It was more than just weather-appropriateness, you see. It had something to do with _iki_ \- although he personally didn't really understand what the correct motifs and colours were. 

So far, he had counted at least thirty spectacular silk ensembles amongst Byakuya's collection, and those were just the ones in Byakuya's size. He knew that Rukia had her own wardrobe, and there was a considerable vault of kimono from past Kuchiki family members that Byakuya was too slight and tall to wear. 

On the top shelf of the wardrobe sat a neat, cloth wrapped stack of Renji's own clothes, and three wooden boxes of special, top-tier occasion clothing that his position as husband to Kuchiki Byakuya afforded him. The boxes contained: one pair of silk hakama, two haori (one black with five crests for ultra formal occasions, one deep green for more light-hearted affairs), and kimono for each season. Padded for winter, gauzy and practically see through for summer, lined silk for spring and autumn. 

Renji risked a peek into the new boxes Eijiro was fussing over. 

Inside was a kimono in deep blue, black, and white check, and a folded pile of red silk striped with drooping iris stalks in rich jewel colours. They were completely foreign to Renji, and more flashy than anything he'd seen Byakuya wear before. 

"Where did these come from?" he asked. Eijiro didn't quite sigh, but it was a close thing. Renji was meant to be pretending he didn't exist, after all. "They're older pieces. Kuchiki-sama hasn't worn them since he was a young man," the steward explained.  
"I can't imagine him wearing red," Renji frowned. 

Eijiro scoffed, flicked his glance to Renji's hair and smirked. "He wears red rather well, I think."

Renji blushed, and blushed again the first time he saw his husband in the kimono. The red was even more vibrant against the pale skin of Byakuya's neck. Lounging in the shade of the veranda, he looked like a young samurai lord, his sword set aside for a short time in favour of poetry and sakazuki cups. 

*

Byakuya's eyes became gradually more panicked as they walked along the row of brightly lit tattoo parlours, with their prices gaudily splashed in the windows next to flashy designs of tigers and dragons. It was a relief to see his shoulders soften minutely when Renji stopped at last outside a traditional wooden building, the door hidden in the shadows of a simple green noren. 

The one irezumi artist Renji would trust with this job was, of course, the most expensive. Sanada-sensei was the priciest irezumi artist because he was the oldest one practising in Seireitei, and years under your belt meant zeros on the end of the bill. Renji had used his services sparingly, for those slightly dicey or painful bits of work he didn't want messed up; around the insides of his thighs, his ankles, the soft skin between his illiac crest and his penis (the bit Byakuya liked to press his tongue against).

Renji had forgotten, though, just how traditional Sanada was. The whole place felt so alike to the Kuchiki estate with its ritualised greetings and slippers at the doorstep. Renji knew Byakuya would find it at least a little comforting. A girl in a neat uniform bowed them in at the door, hair wrapped back away from her face and apron at her waist. She led them into a warm tatami-matted room full to the rafters of shelves and papers and scrolls, then bustled immediately off to make tea. 

Sanada himself was already seated at the table, a sheaf of coarse paper, brushes and black ink at his elbow. Renji's heart gave a pang of longing. Ah, if only he could sink back into thick cushions and into the ache and sting of Sanada's work. He'd always found getting ink done a cathartic process, and wondered how Byakuya might react when it came to it. 

The tattooist smiled warmly at Renji, but bowed in a deep, measured way to Byakuya. It was a clean sort of bow that Renji had only achieved after practising in front of a mirror: right hand to the floor, left following, a graceful dip until forehead almost met the triangle of his hands. Byakuya bowed back. It was a little shallow, Renji thought, but he was nervous. 

After the tea arrived, an expectant silence settled over the room. They had agreed beforehand that Renji would handle as much of the talking as possible. "My husband-" he started, watching Sanada's attentive, placid face as he did "- was interested in getting a tattoo. He's always admired mine but we're looking for something one-off, a bit more discreet and artistic." Sanada was nodding gravely. "It is rare for me to do only one small piece, but given the canvas I would say it is an honour on this occasion," he said, bowing again. 

It had taken several conversations over the past few weeks, made easier after they discovered some old volumes of woodblock prints to use as references, but Renji thought he had an clear idea of what Byakuya wanted. Renji explained to Sanada that they were thinking of something representing Hachiman - his staff maybe, interwoven with cherry blossoms. Senbonzakura apparently approved of an offering to the patron saint of warriors and it would make a nice contained piece. 

The old man's hands moved the brush lightly over paper as they talked, a single steady stroke for the line of the staff and delicate twists for the swirls and rings at its end. The impression of cherry blossoms flowed from the brush with such ease it was as if they'd been pulled out of it fully formed. 

Even this first sketch was beautiful. Renji wanted it on Byakuya. He wanted to watch the ink move under his skin, roll with the muscles clinging onto his lithe frame. 

It would take several sessions to do the work and Sanada explained all the considerations very carefully: placement, aftercare, design adjustments, size. Renji sat back and let Byakuya ponder without intrusion for a moment. He looked a lot in love with the design but otherwise a little overwhelmed - Renji knew that expression very well after hours and days racked up sitting under the needle and watching others go through this exact journey. 

"What about the centre of your back, between your shoulder blades?" he suggested. "It'll be covered by your hair most of the time and you can sit against a wall in the onsen to hide it if you need to."  
"I could adjust the blossoms, for that position," Sanada said, almost to himself, drawing a faint, watery shadow of flowers in a slightly more curved, complementary arrangement.

Byakuya was nodding, holding out his hand for the design. He stared at it for a long while before he nodded again. Renji's heart thumped as they started to compare diaries for when the work could start. 

He imagined the rod of the staff running down the line of Byakuya's spine, a column of steel and strength like a blade etched into his skin. A line for him to lick his way up, a guide to draw his eye down. 

They were both worked up by this, apparently, because when they arrived back at the estate Byakuya wrapped a hand around Renji's wrist and marched him straight to their rooms. Searing kisses served as his only warning of what was about to happen, then Byakuya was tugging the knots of his hakama free, pulling them down and staying there, knelt at Renji's feet. 

Byakuya's general attitude towards getting his mouth around Renji's dick was flatteringly enthusiastic. Renji had considered himself a pro at sucking cock, until he'd been under the assault of Byakuya's warm mouth, yielding throat, agile tongue. 

It was out of character, though, for Byakuya to drop to his knees like this in their living room. To guide Renji's hands deep into his thick, silky hair. To slacken his jaw and pull at Renji's hips, just a little tug. To encourage Renji to fuck into his mouth, slowly, deeply. 

It was excruciatingly hot. 

He tensed against the urge to double over and curl around the sensation. He bit his lip and let himself groan, rock forward. Byakuya's fingers rested light against his thigh, twitching, pressing. 

Renji gathered his husbands hair up in his hands, imagined that he was revealing the tattoo hidden underneath. He thought of setting up this act in front of the mirror, like they sometimes did, so that he could see the cool streak of ink running down Byakuya's back. 

He gasped and thrust harder, looked down and admired the jagged line of his own tattoos curling across his pectorals and abs, then down the cut of his hips. They framed where Byakuya's face was pressed into his groin. "Shit. Fuck," Renji hissed. Byakuya's thumbs dug into the points of black ink around his thighs. He pulled off, straining against Renji's grip on his hair, only to run his tongue across the closest tattoo he could reach. 

It almost did Renji in. He lasted a pitifully short time, overall, but Byakuya was quick to pull him down, climb into his lap and languidly jerk himself off onto Renji's abs. 

Which meant, naturally, that it was a pitifully short time before Renji was hard enough for them to do it all over again. 

*

If the mere idea of a tattoo had this much mileage in it, Renji wondered how hot and bothered the real thing would get him. He worried slightly for his balls. The sex since the tattoo appointment had been athletic. Lengthy. Byakuya was good at balancing him on the point of pleasure, and edging him suddenly became the norm. It was a challenge, to see how much Renji would sweat and growl and gasp until he snapped and stopped playing along. 

Byakuya was enjoying being thoroughly wrecked in turn, and it was so distracting that Renji almost forgot that he had been concerned in the first place. 

_Why_ was Byakuya getting a tattoo? 

He thought about this question as he reclined next to Byakuya at Sanada's shop. He'd brought a book along to read aloud but it was early yet. Byakuya was only half way through the awkward bit where a stranger had asked him to strip and lie face down on cushions, only to then spend an age working through practice lines. It was made slightly worse by the fact that Sanada had to lean so far over Byakuya to work, sleeves brushing against bare skin. From where he sat Renji could see the discomfort on his Captain's face. 

Finally happy with his outline, Sanada bustled away to fetch mirrors. 

"I can't believe you're doing this," Renji muttered whilst it was only the two of them. It was objectively a shitty thing to say at the sharp end of a needle, but he'd rather say it before Sanada had begun poking Byakuya full of inky holes. 

The way Byakuya flicked his glance in Renji's direction was exasperated at the very least. "I do not need a reason, beyond the fact that I wish to," he said, snippy.  
"I still don't get it," Renji sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Sanada had indulged him by laying out some of those familiar squashy cushions close enough to Byakuya for comfort and far enough out of the way of his work. 

Byakuya seemed like he was about to say something, then Sanada reappeared. 

The first few hits of the needle made Byakuya's nose wrinkle but, just like Renji, he was used to discomfort. Getting tattooed was not dissimilar to the drawn out process of healing after a fight, in Renji's mind: you had to sit still and drink the bitter medicine in order to get to the other side. 

Byakuya was always a bad patient. Hence the book. 

He gave it a few minutes before starting to read. Byakuya's face gradually settled as the motions of the needle became familiar. Renji's voice seeped into the space. The girl that served them tea when they arrived was listening too, hidden just around the jut of the door frame. 

After a few hours of concentration on everyone's behalf, Sanada sat back, finished. 

Renji hadn't let himself look at all, not even a glance, whilst it was going on. Sanada held up a mirror but Byakuya looked at Renji's face first for a reaction. 

He grinned. It was beautiful. Elegant. Poignant. Everything Byakuya was. 

Later, Renji unwrapped the bandage and gently washed the red skin of his husband's back. He didn't realised until much later that the trailing ends of their earlier conversation were still floating, unfinished. 

*

Soon enough the tattoo was half coloured, like a fading watercolour trickling down Byakuya's spine. Things seemed almost normal for a moment, in that Byakuya was more relaxed and had finally agreed to join in on training with the squad after three weeks of letting Renji fend for himself. 

For a moment, at least. 

On the field Byakuya turned, like a wild animal released after years in captivity, into a vicious, sharp-edged, untameable creature. He was competitive. The unseated officers were a sweaty mess within minutes, battering themselves uselessly against their Captain's defences. He was barely moving, even using his spiritual pressure to swat them away. He wasn't even giving them a chink to find and attack, so that they could learn from the experience of looking for a gap, a chance. 

Renji called them back and stepped into the ring instead - if Byakuya needed to let off some steam it should be him that acted as the sparring partner. 

It only seemed to make the Captain more frustrated, however, because Renji knew these moves and wouldn't give an inch. He didn't yield because he didn't need to. He hadn't needed to for a good few decades at this point. They were at a stalemate. 

There was the finest tremor in Byakuya's hand as he lowered Senbonzakura.

Renji jogged over the field to close the gap between them and put the squad out of earshot. "You should go easy on yourself," he said, thinking of the healing red skin on Byakuya's back and the rough treatment he'd been so desperate for afterwards. 

"Back into position, Fukutaicho," Byakuya said. 

Renji could only afford to pause for a moment, to show his displeasure, before following the direct order. 

There was something off about the way Byakuya pushed off into shunpo. He was off balance as their swords glanced off each other in a familiar pattern of attack. 

Until suddenly, sickeningly it spiralled out of control. 

Renji twisted, desperately, away from the exposed line of his husbands arm, scrabbling out of range. Zabimaru's teeth sliced the air and tore at fabric and he gasped in relief when a mist of blood didn't follow. 

They skidded to a halt on the rough sand of the training ground, disengaged and panting. The whole squad gaped. Byakuya's glance slipped away even as Renji tried to meet it. 

Renji did not shout at his Captain in front of the officers. He wasn't sure he could find his voice to shout. His heart was fighting to get out of his chest, his hands vibrating with adrenaline at such a near miss. He waited until they were behind closed doors in the office and only then turned disapproving eyes on his husband. "What the hell was that?" he said, as quietly as he could manage.  
"What, Renji?"  
"That! You could have hurt yourself, or you could have made me hurt you," he hissed.  
"It is good to challenge ourselves," Byakuya said, settling behind his desk in a gesture that he typically used to dismiss people. 

"You were the one who taught me to challenge myself in _controlled_ conditions. I think you made a mistake," he said, placing his palms down on Byakuya's desk. The Captain's nostrils flared. "Mistakes are ok," Renji pushed on. "I just need you to admit you pushed yourself too hard."  
"I am fine," Byakuya snapped. 

Renji heaved in a long breath and dug in his heels. It was the moment to spill out his concerns at last. 

"No. You're not. You're dressing different. Kirara has been fixing fuck-ups in your paperwork for weeks, you're dragging me into empty store cupboards and abandoned hallways every chance you get. You almost sliced your arm open on my sword," he reeled them off, watching Byakuya get paler, icier, until he shot out of his chair. His face was a picture of shock and betrayal that made Renji ache somewhere deep in his chest. 

"You got a tattoo," Renji said, his stomach writhing. The tattoo wasn't for him after all. It was for another reason he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

Byakuya swept out of the room without a goodbye. 

*

When they argued Renji always made the first stitch to knit the wound, and Byakuya was always waiting. Which is why it was a surprise that the door to their bedroom was locked. 

Renji knocked several times with no response, gave up and snuck in through Rukia's old rooms. 

The pile of clothes crumpled on the bedroom floor were the only sign that Byakuya had been there. Listening carefully, Renji heard the feint slosh of water from the bathroom door. Ah. A hot bath. Byakuya was stewing himself until he felt better. 

"Byakuya," he called softly, hand on the door. 

No answer. 

"I'm coming in," he warned. 

A sudden rush of water. Renji slid the door open. 

Byakuya's fingers were pink where they gripped the sides of the tub. His hair was curling in the heat of the steam rising from the water. He was beautiful like this, but it was hard to appreciate the scenery given the atmosphere in the room - almost as thick as the steam. 

Renji pulled up a stool and dropped down next to the bath. 

"You ok? You're not hurt right?" Renji said quietly, hand wrapped around Byakuya's forearm. His husband looked strained to the point of fleeing, only kept there by virtue of being naked in the bath. He was less a wild animal and more nervous prey, now. 

He shook his head. 

"Sorry I pushed you on it, but you gotta admit you weren't thinking straight. And it's my job to watch your back, even if it's just protecting you from yourself," Renji said, then sighed. "That's not true, it's not just my job. I'm your husband. I can't help but worry."

Byakuya was still silent, but he gripped Renji back, a quick squeeze like a concession. 

"Let me wash your hair," he pleaded. It had been months since he'd last had the luxury. 

Byakuya tipped his chin in assent. His shoulders were still a tight line. Perhaps perhaps after this Renji could employ his usual methods until Byakuya relinquished whatever was bothering him. 

He worked his hands into the skin-warm roots of Byakuya's hair, and paused. 

_Ah._

The streak of silver was half an inch wide, hidden behind Byakuya's left ear in the thick fall of his hair. Even damp, it was a bright steel-grey colour, more sparkly than the dull wedges of gunmetal at his own temples. 

Panicking, Renji looked up. Byakuya's eyes were right there, knowing, waiting. 

He got his hands free and pressed his palm to the sharp line of Byakuya's cheekbone. "You remember what you said to me, right?" Renji asked.  
"I do."

When Renji had despaired over the growing hints of grey in his beard and mane, Byakuya had been pragmatic. He'd told Renji that it was a privilege because soldiers don't tend to live very long. Grey hair was a sign of strength. Now it was just one of many things Renji considered badges of his determination to live long and live well.

"Then why are you stressing about it?" Renji asked, softly.  
"It is different when it's yourself."  
"You know it's beautiful right? It's fucking gorgeous, and surprising and I love that we get to do this together," Renji said. "We get to grow old together. At least, we do as long as my husband doesn't get careless and push himself too hard in training after I thoroughly railed him through the mattress three nights in a row."

Byakuya looked suitably embarrassed. The flush on his chest from the hot water turned perhaps a little deeper than before. Promising. 

There was one last thing Renji needed to ask. 

"Please tell me you didn’t get a tattoo because you felt old?" he winced.  
"No. Not entirely. It started that way but became something else," Byakuya said, hesitant. "Doing it together with you was a memorable experience. It already feels like part of me - added on, not replacing anything else." 

Renji's next exhale was long and shaky. That was a relief. 

"Renji. Whilst I will be more careful of my own limits in the future, you must know that I do not like to deny myself anything when it comes to you," Byakuya said in a rush. 

Renji nodded. He understood. For many years after they got together they were making up for lost time. There could have been decades of kisses and intimate dinners and love-making on rainy afternoons. It had taken Byakuya longer to shake off the spectre of lost time than Renji. 

This was, perhaps, the opposite of that? 

If Byakuya's recent behaviour was just his attempt at living in the moment, Renji could work with that. 

So, making the most of time.

"Deny yourself anything...meaning, if you want to be fucked til you can't think straight three days in a row you expect me to accommodate that?" he said, turning the conversation with a grin. 

Byakuya swayed back, head propped up against the edge of the bath so that the line of his neck was exposed. "I do. Is that a problem?" he said. He looked at Renji through his eyelashes and slowly slipped one knee up out of the water then let it drop, wide open, to one side. The skin running up the inside of his thigh was so much paler, almost hairless. Renji's mouth watered with the urge to bite it. 

Renji knew this body inch by inch, from the soft brush of hair at his armpit, to the shadowed dip of his collarbone and the sharp joints of his ankles. "No,” he replied, swallowed. “Your husband is very willing."  
"Show me," Byakuya said. 

Renji was out of his seat in an instant, shouldering out of his gi before he'd untied his hakama. He threw his uniform across the room towards the door and out of splashing range then stepped into the bath. He pulled Byakuya into his lap by thigh and hip and clinging hands across his ribcage. Then Byakuya was tugging him forward by his shoulders and slanting their mouths together. 

It was a struggle to imagine a day when they wouldn't do this anymore. Perhaps it would come when they least expected it. 

For now, they curled around each other, Renji's broad palm wrapping around them both in a languorous pull. Water lapped gently with the rhythm of his strokes, in time with panting breaths. There was the tickle of skin against the inside of his knees as Byakuya tensed and rocked up into circle of Renji's hand.

He staved off his own pleasure until his husband spilled into the hot water of the bath, gasping and grasping at his arms and shoulders. Then he lifted Byakuya in his arms and carried them from the clinging steam to the relative cool of their bedroom. 

When he tumbled them both into the futon, Byakuya was still damp and slightly pink. His eyes almost fell closed, his limbs boneless in the fading embers of pleasure. 

Renji nudged in between his thighs and lay down on his stomach, dropped his mouth to the crease of Byakuya's thigh and then across. 

Byakuya twisted up and closer, and then quickly away. He was cold, looking for body heat, but too sensitive and jittery to enjoy the warmth of Renji’s mouth at first. Gradually, the long lean muscles of his thighs relaxed, and his cock hardened again as Renji bobbed his head, tongue long on the way up and throat relaxed on the way down. 

He pulled off and tried to coax Byakuya up onto his hands and knees. “Renji - I can’t,” he mumbled into the pillows, eyes still drooping. The start of gooseflesh prickled at his arms. “Ok, ok, I’ve got you,” Renji whispered, brushing lips across his husband’s ear. One hand under each knee he bent Byakuya slowly in half at the waist and hooked his legs over his shoulders. 

“We don’t ever have to stop doing this,” Renji said, fingers pressed deep inside. “Don’t wanna stop doing this.” He brushed his mouth soothingly against the inside of a knee. Byakuya was biting his lip, but soft sounds still escaped around the indentation of his teeth.

It didn’t take a lot of prep, on occasions like these where Byakuya was already so relaxed and wanting. They still went through oil like it was water - Renji loved the lewd sound of their bodies meeting with it, echoing around Byakuya’s formal suite. He drank in the sight of it running in slick rivulets down thighs and the shine on hands and dicks, low on abs in the glow of lantern light. 

The bones of their knees and spines and elbows were cushioned enough by the blanket that Renji didn’t hold back. He used his not inconsiderable strength to hold his husband exactly where he wanted him, pushing in and in until he felt the flutter in Byakuya’s legs where they were almost wrapped around his neck. 

“Renji, husband,” Byakuya moaned, and he meant _please, now_.  
“Touch yourself,” Renji replied, his voice gruff with exertion and the bright sizzle of orgasm building in his belly.

Renji looked to down to where they were joined and watched Byakuya snake his hand down and start working frantically between them. It was too much. He bowed under the pressure of his release, slamming his hips forwards once and staying there, deep, whilst pulsing heat rushed through him from toes to the crown of his head. He vaguely registered Byakuya’s broken gasp and the hot splash of cum between them. 

“That was perfect,” Byakuya whispered, so heavy now in Renji’s arms.  
“Yeah?” he mumbled, just about managing a smile as he eased them down to the bed.  
“Yes.”

Then they were back to where it all started, with pale fingers drawing the lines of tattoos.

He wrapped an arm around Byakuya’s shoulders, rocked them so that they faced each other on their sides. With his index finger, he drew a long, sure line down between shoulder blades along the divot of Byakuya’s spine. At the base of where he knew the staff was drawn, he skimmed sideways across a dusting of pink cherry blossoms. 

The soft huff of Byakuya’s laugh caught against Renji’s collarbone, the happiness sunk deep into his chest. 

“So, er, you’re getting my name tattooed across your arse when you get your first wrinkle, right?” Renji said, without a hint of self preservation.  
“Current evidence suggests you will get there first. Are you willing to follow suit?” Byakuya said. His eye twitched open, fixing Renji was a look full of mirth, and love too. 

"What am I saying. Your ass is already mine," Renji scoffed.

**Author's Note:**

> This turned...er...horny. Renji is looking, respectfully (and thirstily) at this husband. 
> 
> What can I say, I love a Byakuya tattoo story.


End file.
